


I's Fine!

by Writerwithdepression



Series: Newsies of Manhattan [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Crutchie-centric, F/M, Happy Ending, Hiding Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, accents are fucking impossible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writerwithdepression/pseuds/Writerwithdepression
Summary: Crutchie is a lot more hurt from the refugee than he would leave you to believe, not to mention the fact that the Delancy's get some sick kick out of well...kicking the lad. He's too fucking stubborn to admit that he's hurt. Angst ensues.
Relationships: Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber
Series: Newsies of Manhattan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706221
Kudos: 18





	1. Waking up, sucks!

It was a great day for da kids of New York City, especially for Jack. His boys were safe, Snyder’s locked behin’ bars for good, met Teddy Rosevelt (on purpose, dis time), got a new job workin’ for da world, got da papes back to da price they was at before, and got da gurl of his dreams! It was a day to celebrate for everyone...everyone but Crutchie. It wasn’t like he wasn’t happy or notin’, cause he was! The refuge was shut down, the odda newsboys were back to dare normal lives (wit a bit more money in dare pocket), and Jack couldn’t be luckier! It’s just...since da refuge, his leg hasn’t been doin’ too good...guess bein’ a crip was like bein’ a walkin’ target for da spider...but he was stronger than most people would give him credit for, and he wasn’t gonna let some ol’ cut ruin his spotless reputation as one of da most successful newsboys in Manhattan! Plus...he didn’t need to ruin Jackie’s fun...he didn’t need to worry him, or da odda boys for dat matta just ‘cause of some gash, or some night terrors...he’ll be fine... 

Crutchie woke with a start. His heart felt like it was pounding hard enough to burst through his chest.  _ What da hell was dat?! _ His brain screamed at him through his short breaths. He gripped his chest, hopeful that that might help the instant pounding, and closed his eyes...desperate to know what had thrown him into an anxiety attack first thing in, what he can only assume was the morning. He tries to remember the scattered remnants of his nightmare, only coming up with some feelings and noises.  _ Scared. Shouting. Pain. Crip! Helpless. Please. Help me. Help me. HELP ME! _ He opened his eyes and clamped his other hand over his mouth to prevent a scream.  _ The Refuge. _ He sat in his bed for what felt like hours while his breathing finally calmed down, hoping to god that he hadn't woken up Jack. He shot a glance over to, the still sleeping, King of Manhattan. Crutchie almost began laughing at the position Jack was laying in. Only his lower half (with the exception of his right leg) was still on his mattress, while his upper half laid on the floor. His black hair stuck up in all directions with his mouth laying open. Crutchie could help but wish for a camera to show the other newsboys (along with Katherine) what their king looked like in the moment when he wasn’t giving grand speeches and being his charming self. Crutchie sighed, Jack looked like he hadn’t moved in four years, much less 20 minutes. There wasn’t really a point to going back to sleep, so he instead decides to check on his continuously throbbing right leg. He lifts up the bottom of his pant leg to find a disgusting looking gash on the underside of his calf. The cut looks raw, with the inside of his pant leg looking stained.  _ I should probably invest in more dan one pair of pants. _ He leans forward to touch the cut, before hearing Jack stir a few feet from him. Crutchie pulls his pant leg down before laying down in an futile attempt to pretend to be asleep. 

“Hey, Crutch” Jack’s voice still hoarse from sleep, “I saw yous was awake, but nice try, kid” Crutchie sighs before sitting up,

“Can’t get anyting passed you, can I?” Crutchie’s voice was crackly, clearly not used to talking either, 

“Ya leg boddering you today?” Jack stood up from his (fantastic) sleeping position to stretch. Crutchie knew that Jack meant the normal everyday pain that his gimp leg blessed him with, and not the open wound being pressed against the inside of his pant leg. He knew that admitting that he was experiencing normal everyday pain, wouldn’t cause as many questions so he gave in,

“Yeah, a bit...it’s been gettin’ colder lately, and you know how my gimp leg handles da wind and snow-”

“Yeah, about as good as Race witout his cigar in da mornin’!” Jack’s laugh caused Crutchie to *almost* forget about everything that had happened in the last few days, ”You’d tell me if it was too bad, yeah?” Jack walked over to Crutchie and held his hand out to the other boy, who was still laying on the floor. Crutchie pulled up using Jack’s hand before grabbing his crutch from the railing and standing on his own. Jack reached down and placed Crutchie’s worn down newsies hat on top of the younger boy’s messy bedhead. 

“A course! What else is havin’ a brudda for?” Jack smiled at the younger boy, 

“Then we better head out before Race picks a fight wit da Delancey brudda’s witout us!” Crutchie smirked as Jack grabbed his vest and they made their way down the ladder. 


	2. Just my luck...

-Time Skip-

Cructhie couldn’t tell if he was lucky or he was better at hiding an injury than he had thought.  _ Probably a combination a both wit a mix of da fact dat most the newsies can’t stay focused on anyting for more dan two seconds at a time! _ Crutchie giggled to himself as he headed back to the lodging house without a single extra paper in his bag to sell back! He stopped against a wall to readjust his grip on his crutch when he was pulled into the neighboring alley by two of the most familiar faces in the newsboy world... _ Da Delancy brudda’s! _

“How’s it goin’, crip? We hadn’t seen much a you durin’ the strike, any idea wheres you was hidin’?” Morris spat in his face while he held Crutchie against the wall by his (now heavily strained) wrist. Before he could even register what was happening, Oscar answered, 

“They probably tucked him away, what would a good-for-nothin’ crip do except hide anyways!” The brother laughed as Crutchie struggled to get on somewhat even ground with them, before Morris tightened his grip on the boy’s thin wrist.

“Where do ya think ya goin’, crip? Back to da odda good-for-nothin’ newsboy’s? Like they would even want ya in the first place!”

“They might even thank us for the baggage we’s got rid of for dem!” Oscar reeled back his fist before Crutchie realized he shoulda told Jack about his leg earlier…’cause it’s gonna be a lot harder to hide a black eye that (based off the size of Oscar’s fist) would take up a good quarter of the kids face. He puts his arms up, only for Oscar's fist to stop inches away from Crutchie’s face. The lack of pain caused Cructhie to look past his arms to see the glit of brass knuckles, before being quickly thrown to the floor where dirt, as well as, small stones embedded themselves into Crutchie’s already infected wound, causing him to bite back a scream of pain. 

“Look at ‘im! He already looks like he’s gonna cry, and we haven’t even done anytin’ yet!” Morris pointed and laughed, while damaging Crutchies already bruised ego. 

“Well, what did you expect? He’s a crip after all!” Oscar joined his brother in laughing while Crutchie’s rage built.  _ It always gotta come down to my gimp leg, don’t it? I’ve left them black and blue more times than they can count! And if I had my crutch, and I didn’t have this stupid cut on my leg, they would be toast by now too!  _ Crutchie tried to pull himself up, but his cut leg just throbbed endlessly in pain, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek to not give them the satisfaction of crying. As he tried to rise, Morris and Oscar took turns kicking him back to the ground, or pulling him up just to get some good punches in. Crutchie wasn’t a bad fighter, even without his crutch, but his infected leg wouldn’t let him do much without throbbing in pain and causing his legs to give out anyway. After a few minutes, he was doing more damage to himself then good, so he gave in. They kicked him around, spat degrading words at him, and made sure to aim for his already fucked up leg. After about half-an-hour or so, they weren't getting the responses that they wanted, so they left him in the alley. He laid there, staring up at the sky, until he could muster up enough strength to pull himself to his crutch, that laid way too far away. 

“Well ain’t today just goin’ exactly how Is’s planned it?!” Crutchie whispered through his clenched teeth, as he began to pull himself up. He began slowly making his way to the lodging house while coming up with plenty of excuses as to why he’s basically stained red.  _ If they’s start lookin’ over my injuries, they’ll find the cut, then I’d have more than a few questions ta answer... _ At that moment he walked passed a close restaurant, and saw his reflection...he didn’t recognize himself. His sandy hair was dirtier than usual, with a hint of pink on the sides. Bruises were scattered across his neck and only got worse the lower you looked, with only a faint bruise forming on his jaw. His face was stained with mud and blood, not the normal brush of dried dirt across his cheek.  _ Well, none of my excuses can even come close to coverin’ all dat! _ He took a step forward, as if to check that his reflection wasn’t lying to him, when he stepped directly in a puddle right in front of the wall.  _ God damn it to!-wait a minute… _ he thought to himself,  _ I could probably wash off mosts a dis, then if da boys ask I’ll say I just fell into a puddle on my walk home! Crutchie Morris, you are a genius! _ He took on his vest and, using the inside of it, washed off most of the grime on his face, mostly focused on the injuries. Afterwards, he put on his (extremely soaked) vest, and took another look at himself. The pink in his hair faded under the slight brown his hair turns when wet. His face looked less like someone beat him up, and more like someone dumped sewer water on him (probably smelled like it too). The slight bruise on his jaw was still there but,  _ what exactly did ya expect? My face ain’t made a’ concrete! _ And thus, the perfect cover-up story was formed. 

Now, all he needed was a group of boys dumb enough to fall for it...good thing he lives with those kind of boys.


	3. Lying is my specialty!

-Time Skip-

Getting himself to the door on the lodging house was a task on it’s own, but having to open the door without looking like it’s tearing open cuts and straining bruises...lets just say, it would be better if he had just walked on his bad leg all the way home...he takes a deep breath, puts on a childish smile, and prepares for his brothers worried faces. 

And worried faces, did he recieve! After announcing his presence, Race’s quick glance turned to confusion real quick.

“What da hell happen’d to you?” Some of the other newsboys gathered around the prince of Manhattan, with confusion and worry written all over their faces.

“Well, I-”

“Crutchie Morris you better have a damn good reason fo showin’ up an hour afta you saids you was gonna show up-” Jack came flying down the stairs as the boys parted for their king. His voice changed from angry to concerned as fast as Race’s glance changed from sarcastic to confused. “What happen’d to you?”

“I asked him first, so get in line, Kelly!” Race cut in front of Jack, and put his hand on Crutchie’s shoulders before quickly taking them off and wiping them on his vest, “Why ya all wet?” 

“Well’s I was gonna tell ya that I fell into a puddle on my walk home...just my luck, right?”

“Den, why you’s an hour late? Don’t take an hour to fall, ya pretty close ta da ground as it is!” Race laughed, with only a slight hint of worry behind his eyes.

“Tryin’ to scrub off most a da mud, before it dried and turned me into a statue on da sidewalk!” Crutchie’s attempt at playing this all off as him falling was not only working, it was doing great.

“Well you shoulda stayed out for anadda hour, ‘cause ya still covered in mud…” Jack walked fully around Crutchie, while smirking, “What, did ya roll around in it? Ya fuckin’ covered!” Most of the newsboys went back to their business without a second thought. I told’s ya, stupidest boys in all a New York! 

“I can only do so much standin’ on one leg, so how’s about you pipe it, Kelly!” Crutchie lightly fake punched Jeck’s left shoulder, causing him to act like he has been shot, more or less.

“I’m hurt, Crutch! I really am!” Jack lightly punched Crutchie’s shoulder back, before pointing towards the later, “Wanna head up?” 

Crutchie knew that it would hurt like hell. The bruises on his wrists made it hurt to hold his crutch, much less pull himself up but…

“A course” Jack’s smile was so worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapters! I only thought to post this yesterday! *Screaming at my lack of forthought*


End file.
